The King of the Nazgul
by queenBaldwinIV
Summary: Story of the the Witch King and an elf named Arshorina. Rated M for mature moments. Chapter 9 now up, sorry but a little rushed, hope you all like it. Sorry took so long really busy with life stuff. Anyway hope you all enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Chapter **1**

**The Restless Spirits**

**T**helegend of the Witch- King of Angmar may be written upon these pages of lore, but it is a forgotten treasure. A myth even among today's society of men. It was even a forgotten tale among the dragons and wizards of past time. It was most importantly forgotten, in his case, the Witch- King himself. For he was a shadow in the legends himself, a veil filled with evil nature. The hero's of the time even considered that the nine were just a mist within the rain. But among these pages, a love story, between a beautiful maiden and a man; no not a man but a tortured spirit. Once leader of many, now a dark cowl that could never die.

It was dark as Arshorina flew about the sticky brush, her long white hair getting caught, and entangling deep into the thorny brush. Soon, her whole body was caught, trapped like a fly in a web. The painful twigs wrapped around her, trapping her from any movement. Yelling out for help, a hand covered her delicate mouth.

Looking up, she could see many people, and many races. People she had even known that had protested against a certain race, all combined, to stop her screams. Men, Hobbits, Elves, Wizards, and many other faces of good that had argued for many years of who was superior, all combining to stop the scrams that issued from her mouth. But they were not helping her! Instead, they pushed her deeper into the thorns, smiling while she suffered.

Biting the hand that was covering her mouth, she continued to cry out for help, but they dint blink or move to save her. Looking frantically over to her left, up at the Rocky Mountains that had always faced the Elvin woods, she looked upon it wondering if it were to be her last sight. Over to be the sky was black, all of where the evil in the world lurked, her favorite spot to glance at when she was alone. But from the black clouds, came a horse carrying a rider dressed in black. Robes of death it seemed as the thing and its horse began to gallop down the rocky edge at a blistering speed, matched by the elves running upon the open grassy plains.

Soon the hooded rider was upon the large crowd of races, the horse dropping beads of precious sweat upon the green land. The crowd pulled out knifes, swords and arrows, attempting to stop the rider. Some coward before him, screaming in agony as the rider pushed his way through the masses being stabbed and shot, but he still came, not even a cry issuing from his dark hood.

As he approached her, his hood stared at her face for a wild moment, while she looked within it. Only to see nothing but inky blackness. Yet the faceless rider seemed to see and hear her cries and he was here to save her. Staring in confusion, he finally reached her, and drew out his sword to chop at the branches that held her, offering his gloved hand to assist her.

Grabbing it, the hooded rider suddenly let out a scream and grabbed its empty face. Looking up, Arshorina could see a woman jabbing her savior into the helm. It was a scream of pain and death, making her cry out in horror watching her hero fall to the grassy ground.

Taking a deep breath, nearly gagging from her tears as she tried to grab hold of something near her, she opened her eyes, and turned to hear a voice stating worriedly, "Your dreams are getting worse, Arshorina. You need council. Leave the forest. Go to Elrond."

"I need no counsel mother." She replied with anger hinting her voice, turning over upon the silky bench.

Sitting upon his dark throne, the Witch-King was still as if he had fallen asleep or staring into the dark oblivion as was in his hood. It was as if his posture said that he was suffering from something within his past. The only noise that could be heard was the tapping of his iron clawed gloves that slightly hit his armrest, in an impatient fashion.

The hooded king stood suddenly and began to pace about. His dress like robes slipped about him with ease as if an able and strong body had accompanied it for many years. Holes and rips covered the black rags that had covered the king for what seemed like centuries. The hood that should have held a face, held nothing but a fowl stench, worse than a dead festering carcass, faintly extruded the thing.

A high piercing moan came forth from the empty blackness of his hood. A moan as if he was restless and sad. He paced about more madly, and then strode over to a thin slit in his vast throne like room. Looking upon the fiery doom that he had created, all of the little bodies of his slaves finally shouted down to the many evil creatures with a booming voice that held much command.

"Prepare my steed!" The Witch-King hissed with a voice that chilled the spines of every living or dead thing upon Middle Earth.

Green grotesque heads with mouths a gaped looked up at the King as if they were afraid of his commanding gaze, there shivers matching that of the tremors witching the earths core as the distant Mount Doom erupted into a blistering haze. When he left the slit in his castle wall, the goblins, orcs and trolls began to mill about again, mocking the few humans that crowded about upon the tiny trails. Only a few scuttled away to prepare their lordships horse.

As the King of the Nazguls descended down the stone steps to his awaiting horse, he had the air to himself of needing to know. He had too many visions and dreams concerning an Elvin woman who seemed to be trapped within her, within a family that wanted her to do well. Hiding from the world in fear that they would kill her if they found out her evil nature. But he had the feeling that there was something evil in her beautiful smile, and that she needed his help. And with all the evil that he had within his soul, he could not block her screaming voice out any longer.

Approaching his magnificent horse, three orcs handed the straps with shaking hands to his armored flesh and fled to open the gates. Saddling himself upon the black horse, he kicked the sides of the well muscular ribs and galloped into the night heading toward Druadan Forest, the forest of the Elves.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Chapter****2**

**The Fell Beast**

**A**rshorinaawoke late in the afternoon, giving an empty smile towards the chirping birds that always seemed to greet her. Standing a gust of wind came from behind her bedding and a beautiful elf stepped forth making herself known amongst the foreboding wind.

"You have been summoned to the council, Arshorina, to speak on the manner of your ill mood," the she elf said repeating her given command.

"Ill mood?" Arshorina asked. "It is only plagued dreams mother. Surely you believe this."

The other elf said nothing as she walked silently out of the open space. Arshorina stamped her foot upon the tiled floor with a look of hatred seething from her eyes. But it evaporated quickly once her mother reentered the space.

"Whatever may be plaguing you daughter, you cannot stay here. It ruins all that is good. It is evil in a pure form. You must go and talk to Elander, or be lost forever," the elf said, her eyes teary.

"Why should I go talk to one of which plaughs me?" Arshorina stated flatly smiling as her mother looked on in shame.

"You will not talk in such a way!" Arshorinas mother ordered.

"She is beyond our help now. Samantirina, we must send her to the Lady of the Forest now. There we can only hope that she's cured or helped for the matter," came a powerful voice that Arshorina knew to be Elander.

"So you send me to one of "them". The ones you say that are plaguing me." Arshorina turned to great the elder elf.

"It is the only way Arshorina. One day you will be back thanking us. Guards!" Elander called softly, as though he hinted something in her eyes.

Four elves came from within the five open doorways that were provided, holding Elvin swords and bows. The leader among them approached Arshorina with caution before he suddenly grabbed her wrists tightly and tied an eleven clasp around her thin skin, preventing her from escaping. Arshorina didn't even flail about, only her eyes held Elanders as she was led away slowly. She didn't leave his gaze until he disappeared from her sight, making her fidget sofly in an idle way of an escape. But it was to no anvil; the strong elves would not let her go. She would have to go with them to see the dreaded witch that lived in the forest. Of course, she knew in fact, what the fair maiden really was.

A cheap woman that had fallen to her dark lords presence, accepting the beautiful ring from the plate. It had offered them eternal life, power and anything they had ever desired. But she had denied the dark Suron in a pitiful chance, and decided to help those whom she deemed worthy, trying to overcome her obstacles in life, hating the fact that she held little power to those who had accepted their fate.

It seemed quite unreal as to the time, when her foot stepped upon the soft delicate twig, without a single snap, as her eyes scanned her new surroundings, which enclosed her view of the dark mountains. Green forest and brown bark seemed to trap her, almost suffocation in a way, catching only glimpses of the wondrous large mountain surrounded in its dark sky. But her mind had escaped her prison and into a vision of the man from her dreams. The cloaked figure was upon the rocky trail, his horse fast and bounding upon the sharp rocks, crying out in pain, but striving forward nevertheless.

"Do not dwell on those things that are evil, Arshorina," one elf turned to say as if sensing the fog of evil visions that were keeping her entertained.

"He is trying to save me." Arshorina came to the conclusion, keeping her voice at a whisper, afraid that the elves would only tighten her bonds.

"Do not dwell on something that cannot be saved," another continued moving quietly along, pulling at her chain and stating, "Follow me."

A small breeze blew from the mountains, and she could smell death mixed with blood and sweat. It was vial; enough to make all of the white heads swivel about towards the looming mountain. Arshorina squinted through the small brush, searching across the mountain to see what was making the smell. Her horse quietly picking up speed once the elves beckoned it to, as though afraid of the evil wind that was approaching. Suddenly, she could see a black rapid movement, the dark cloak, mixed with the horses valiant black matted hair; seemed as though it was making a gray fog. It held up a hooded head that she had all so recognized from her dreams to be the rider that would save her. The horse slipped upon the rock, and cascaded downward, the rider with much practice, correcting the hooves, and with so much speed advanced quickly upon the eleven groups.

This was her chance, ripping at the chains, she broke free from the delicate hand of the guard, blood spattering upon the leaves, as she fled from the group avoiding the many hands that tried to stop her, her quiet feet running toward the black rider. With all of her speed, she was no match for the black riders horse. For as she ran, the hooded figure kicked brutally into the sides of the thing, and it quickened it's pace. Looking behind her, she could see that the group of elves had now given chase. She had no time to react, so she looked back and began to avoid all of the twigs and vines that grew from the earth in an attempt to stop her. Feeling as though she world make it, she suddenly was yanked toward the ground, yanked by the elf that had spoken to her not even a moment before.

She quickly glanced toward the mountain once again, she could see her rider continuing to race the wind in an attempt to catch up, his horse galloping threw the thick water that ran threw the plain of vines and twigs. She could even see the foam upon his steed's mouth in so much pain yet trying to please its master as it galloped across the grass. The rider was gaining upon the group of elves that had now approached the fallen elf, binding her once again to their hands. But there was no time; the lead elf drew its sword quickly, making his stance solid. The black rider flew by, taking the head off with one swing of what looked like a broken rusty sword, however, with an Elvin blade, the black horse that had panted so much fell, blood as black as the night sky spurted upon the blades of the grass, and the rider fell upon the ground. All hope for her escape seemed lost as she saw the rider lay motionless upon the ground.

The black shroud gave up a rasping growl, and the body began to slowly rise, the elf's looking on as though horrified, the gloved hand picking up it's fallen sword. "Dost thou dare challenge the King of the Nazguls?" The rider asked in a hissing voice of power and evil. But the elves held their ground, their swords held high, their stance betraying their fear.

One elf struck the back of the rider with it's glowing dagger, but fell screaming in agony as the rider laughed cruelly, "No man nor elf can kill thee," the black hooded thing chuckled as he withdrew the small dagger from his back and turned to stab the writhing elf.

Once again, the battle continued, as with such ease, the hooded figure blocked another elf's sword. An arrow stuck at the silver armor that protected the things shoulder, as he chopped at an elf's open guard, making contact. A jittering crack issued forth from the elf's rib, and with another lunge, struck the little dagger through the man's chest, leaving it there to move to the next victim. Next, the elf that had shot at the tall lurking shadow with the arrow was to meet his doom with the black rider. With a single slice in the air, the fair elf fell to the ground, his eyes filled with death and the red blood joined in a thin stream with the others.

Arshorina watched as the rider that claimed to be the King of the Nazguls danced about his black rusty sword slicing into the elves that held her. His thick armor defending him from any other wounds. The swords clanked about upon his body, but he ignored them, advancing upon her, and her captors. Until finally, there was only one left. This one sat, cowering in front of the faceless man, sword raised in a poor defense. The rider gave a grueling laugh, and slowly stabbed the man in the chest, as though enjoying the cries of pain that issued from the bruised throat of the dying man. Once the man dropped, the rider turned its faceless hood towards her, and knelt besides her, chopping at the chains with ease.

"Why did you come for me?" Arshorina asked in the tongue of man.

"To save thou from those whom held thee back from thy true potential and purpose," the rider stated after a moment to chop the rest of the chains, his voice like that of a snake.

"You have seen me before?" Arshorina asked her confused look taking the hooded man by surprise.

"Visions of a woman thrashing about, asking to be saved by creatures of thy dark," the man replied, helping her stand. "Elves have a particular curse for visions." Arshorina was taken aback at how wonderful his Elvin tongue had been pronounced, every syllable like music. "Thy hast not need to fear thee. What are thou visions?"

"I have seen you, as a King of many, fell beasts, orcs, trolls, goblins, and men, and yet you are a servant." Arshorina answered, in her chosen language, watching the enraged hood nod.

"I was once many things. Thou shall see thyn beasts and land, when thou shall accompany thee to thy Dark Lord." The rider whispered, offering his gloved hand.

Arshorina looked at the rider's long gloved fingers, the overpowering stench of evil that had been denied from her view now in full blossom from this stranger. His gruesome acts stirring her into a new dark empty void. The whispers of the so called king reaching her ear, tempting her of great riches and dark romance awaiting her if she would take his hand. Her eyes grew dark, feeling her soul become tainted with a vision of the rider before her standing upon the great city of men, the many creatures that she had seen with him milling about. Everything was burning, and there she was next to him, at his side, beauty marking her every whim. So much power she saw that it made her lust for it. Her whole life all she wanted was power.

Taking his gloved hand, she felt the bond between them become like a contract, his whispers of the dark deeds that they should do becoming embedded into her soul. He swiftly twirled her around into his grip, and letting a high piercing shriek from his hood, he continued, "Now thy will see but one of thee majestic fell beasts in thyn services. The Nazgul!"

Looking into the dark cloud that hovered above the black mountains, and with a point of his gloved hand towards the mountain, through the black smoke, a snake like dragon erupted. Dipping through the sky like a giant bird, with graceful wings, circling above the two beating it's powerful wings and screeching as though accepting his masters call. The large wingspan, slowly lowering itself to the ground, making sure not to injure nothing, landing upon the soft grassy hill next to it's master, giving little cries of excitement.

The rider of fell beasts, took the hand of Arshorina and began to walk toward his large serpent like dragon. The giant snake like head bent down as though to examine this new body, letting out a snap to the white hair that flew in it's face taunting it to have a bit at the new sight that it had never seen before. The hooded man swung her back, and smacked the dragon upon the nose, making it whine, and a scratch of blood develop upon it's thick scales above the little hump of scales that circled it's nose. Then grabbing the reins, he beckoned for her to jump upon the saddle. Arshorina lunged at the large leg, climbing atop it, to finally reach the black saddle that was held with thick rusted nails into the things skin. The huge body began to shake, as though in a small defiance to it's masters wishes, to get the girl off. But the rider held the reins tightly, withdrawing it's sword, and holding it to the nose that the faceless man had just injured, as though threatening the thing to stay still, and to obey him. Once the bright yellow eye spotted the sharp thing, it stopped its movement, and accepted the man as its rider.

Swinging himself upon the beast in front of the girl, the King seethered his sword once more, and kicked the beast in the side, signaling that he wanted to leave. With many flaps of the large thick-scaled wings, the fell beast rose into the air leaving the red tainted grass behind, soaring into the air like a free bird. Passing the large river that had been the largest river in all of Middle Earth, running into many other little streams and rivers, as though separating everything from everyone in an organized fashion. Leaning forward, Arshorina could feel the power in what the beast and it's master conjured. It seemed to her like an unstoppable force against nature. Even the power of the legendary Suron could not stop the two, she felt.

As they flew, she could see the ground move like a blur as it suddenly turned from green to brown to black. The little animals that scurried to and fro on the land were either just a dot, or when the Nazgul would dip from the sky to nip at one of them would it become clear to her what they really were. The air was sharp and cold as they soared above the clouds and into a gray mist that would creep into the old earth in the next mornings. Above this, she knew would be the sun, however, the rider would dare not go that far up, for his own reasons. The flight of the dragon was so fast, that the ground was more like colors in a painting, then actual life, passing them by. The beasts muscles worked with ease against the rushing wind that blew through her white hair, making the beast grunt wit discomfort at how the thin strands would slide across it's scales and once in a while prick at it's eyes. Of which it would whine to its master, making sad grunts of pain. Suddenly, the riders hand pushed her back against him as a gust of rapid wind rose from the diving fell beast with of which had dove into a green dim of stone walls.

Closing her eyes, Arshorina felt safe from the harsh cold wind that came to her warm skin cooling it with much furious anger. As quickly as the fell beast rose from the plains from before did it fall and land. The thick claws dug into the stone of what seemed its pedestal, which it had adorned for many years based upon the scratches and the crumbling stone that fell with each landing. A winged hand clasped a little crevice; it's apparent yowl to the clumps below a signal that their master was here. The flames themselves seemed to respond to the yowl for they leapt into the dark sky. The fell beast blending so well with the dim wall that it was surrounded by, with the mixture of the green witch craft, and the orange fires from below finally landed with a large thud against the floor, it's snake neck slithering slowly about the air as though moving from layer to layer to reach the stone floor.

"Welcome to Angmar," the king of all Nazguls announced proudly as he watched Arshorina glance about in awe.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Chapter **3**

**Angmar City of Sorcery**

**B**linking, Arshorina nearly screamed in horror as she saw millions of orcs, trolls, humans and goblins milling about in camps and huts formed for their own needs. The dark sculls of things she couldn't name and beyond that towers filled with despite cries of help, or screams of torture. Upon and beyond the high cliffs of this, a burning eye rested upon a pedestal overlooking a much larger mountain. The many statues were that of godly orcs and goblins, among them the hooded rider, with few men standing next to it, their armored bodies kneeling before it, praying to it as though it were a god. She almost hid her face from the sight of the hot desperate land, afraid if she would look any more that she would perish into one of the lowly scuttling creatures that she saw before her.

"If ye do not wish to look, follow me thee lady of great power," the king of the land said, startling the elf.

Jumping off of the fell beast that lay as still as stone, she landed into the arms of the cloaked rider who set her down with such respect and ease. Then taking the lead, the elf followed the mysterious rider into a staircase with which led upward with fires of green flame inside what seemed to be glass walls. The stone or glass was cracked in many places, from years of abuse or years of aging. Either way, Arshorina felt as though this palace was as old as time itself. And as evil as the man that seemed to rule it.

"How did you see me in your visions and dreams? Men are not that attune with visions and dreams, so therefore, you couldn't have seen much." Arshorina asked as she stabled herself upon the wall, afraid of falling down the slippery steps.

"I am mostly the race of man, yes, but I am a sourcer, if that doesn't surprise thee. Widely known throughout history as the Witch-King Lord of the Nine, Second to Lord Suron." The man replied after a pause of eerie silence. Then with much impatience replied, "Anything else that thou wish to know about thee?"

"No, my king." Arshorina answered humbly embarrassed at herself for being so rude with the man.

"Do not call thou King," the witch spat angrily. "I am a Ringwraith. Thou may call thee that, or some other lowly creature."

" You may call me Arshorina." The elf spat back, her tone matching that of the Witch-King. "But you cannot hide what you truly are. Look at your stance. It has not been destroyed over the years."

"I have been patient with thee thus far, Arshorina." The Ringwraith stated as the two entered a large open room with statues and paintings of vivid history from his past. Pedestals of armor hung nearby, their dust thick with years of neglect. "Thyn reason why I had came for thee was that I have everlasting life, power, riches, but it has been thee true undoing. Life to thee is unendurable, and I see both worlds, those with Thoust eyes and things that no one else can see, unless they are passing through the shadow lands into death. I hold visions of thee Masters vengeance and he is the one that commands thee to do most things that I do. True, he gives thee much freedom, but I am trapped in the land of Shadows. And I have seen thou in the Shadow land, writhing in pain from those thou thought were good. Thy portray beauty and good wherever thou Goethe, however, in secret, behind thou mask, there lurks an evil, similar to mine. This was the time that I had set out looking for the elf in thou visions that screamed for help but never found any that she needed. I have seen what thou are capable of and the Dark Lord would like thy services. He will reward thee with anything that thou desires within reason." The Ringwraith finished as he sat down upon his thrown gesturing for Arshorina to sit beside him.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

As Arshorina sat upon the dark rotten wooden chair beside him, she was open to a new vision. This had been a chair of sorrow. Taken from a home. With her eyes open, she was in a wooden house of old. The windows held by wood and few blankets clothed them. However, as she stood from the ground of where she laid, the ground underneath her feet shook. Looking about frantically, she spotted a young couple holding a little baby boy. The woman was upon the chair that she had earlier sat upon, however, it beheld richly carved figures and patterns. The woman sat huddled, crying over her baby son, and the man was holding tightly next to them, with a sword held high, sweat gleaming his dirty face. Walking next to them, she was suddenly shoved aside, an orc or goblin, grunting his way through the doorway, shards of thick wood splattering upon the nice home.

Turning, she couldn't care less for the little orc, once she saw the black hooded figure step through the doorway, his large strides making him look like a god compared to the little masses of bodies. The man in a fatal attempt, slashed the orc down and ran at the Ringwraith, his sword at a high defense. However, with a single slash, the man dropped dead before his wife and son, the look of fear deep in his dead eyes. But the Ringwraith wasn't finished. Stepping over the bodies of the dead man and the slaughtered orc that screamed in pain with its last gulps. But the hooded figure ignored this, and continued for the woman.

"Thou hast caused much trouble for our Lord Suron." The faceless man seethed, "Now die,"

Then with one thrust, the woman fell to the ground, her grasp still clutching upon the baby's blanket. Reaching down, the cold metal gloves of the black rider clutched the baby's head. The faceless rider held it before him with what seemed to be anger, and quickly stabbed at the infant, ending it's misery. Then turning, he left, with Arshorina following at the hooded figures long strides. Once outside, she could see masses of orcs, goblins, trolls, and spiders that were as big as a horse crawling upon the hills, getting rid of the few fighters that were left.

"We have captured Rhudaur!" An orc shouted close enough to were Arshorina could hear.

The black hooded figure spun about, and with a group of evil men traveled to the castle walls to claim victory. With the burning fires, and charred lands, the black hooded figure stood tall among the great muck and raised his sword. And with a cruel laugh, plunged his sword into the dirt to wipe the remaining blood that had lingered upon the dark blade of the baby that he had stabbed.

Grasping hold of the rotten wood, she glanced about, training her eyes on the dark once more. This king was truly evil, she came to realize. She needed to know more about this so called Ringwraith. His deeds were all to recognizable in her eyes. "I have never met you, never even knew that you existed," Arshorina stated, her eyes traveling back to the faceless man, in hopes that he would explain himself more.

"Yes, thou have. I have seen it in thy dreams of old." The Ringwraith stated, his voice hinted with pain. "I was once a great king in the second age. I was given a ring of power. I in thy greed and recklessness had used it to further thy own ambitions in life, at the time to use black sorcery to conquer Angmar and the North Kingdom of old. However, it was thy own undoing. Once being under the control of Lord Suron, I was at war with an Elvin tribe over some matter that I had long forgotten.

But there was an Elvin warrior who had climbed into thy tower room, this very one and drew his sword to kill thee. Knowing thyn curse and thyn gift, I said to him in thy deepest scowl, 'Fool, do ye not know that thy can't be killed by no mere mortal or blade of any kind?'

But the warrior didn't listen and plunged his sword into thy chest. As I could see the black blood of thy evil deeds drip down the beautiful sword, making the blade crack, I could see with thou magic deeds and cursed eyes of visions, a girl falling upon white hard rocks and beginning to cry. She was the only Elvin girl to thy knowledge who latter in life began to enjoy pain. Whom craved for painful acts with a passion that lingered only for the soul of the most evilest of beings.

As I took the cracked Elvin blade out of thyn chest; yes I was wounded from it, the warrior sat back now waiting for his death to come. However, there must had been some humanity left in thy black heart for I stayed thyn blade. I could not bring it down upon him.

Instead I told him in a cold voice, "Go back Elvin warrior,"

"Go back to the family that thy so dearly love." Arshorina continued finishing his sentence. "Do not waste thy life in war." Then in almost awe, Arshorina continued, "My father had told me the story a thousand times. But he had described you as fair skinned, white hair and crystal blue eyes."

"Yes, that was thy description before I turned to dust from the ring that thy Master had gave thee. And all of the years that passed, where thy body sat decaying when I became a Ringwraith and King of the Nazguls." The Ringwraith replied sadly.

"My father thought that you hated life," Arshorina stated from a memory of her father.

"I despise," the hooded figure growled, "envy it. Because life was taken from thee. Death was taken from thee. Everything was taken, besides thy dark anger and the will of thyn master." He then became quiet, his hood looking upon a wall covered in paintings of old battles. Then braking the silence, he continued, "Thou father is among those paintings among the walls. I told one of thee servants to paint thyn vivid memory of the battle so that I wouldn't forget. I hope that thou will find it as a small reminder of him while thy are living here, unlike thee."

"Were is it?" Arshorina asked with excitement.

The King stood and motioned for her to follow. They passed many of the statures, all of them seemed to glare at her, as though sensing that she was a stranger from a great distance. Entering a dark hallway, the king spoke a spell that lighted the wall with green fire from his ancient speech. As they reached a dark end, the king spoke one last spell which ignited the room into a red haze of light. There before her sat many paintings of wars, bloody and dark. Those of light, elves, men, and dwarfs lay sewn on the ground mixed with dark uniformed man who were in no doubt loyal to the hooded Ringwraith that stood next to her now.

Sitting behind the mass of all the dead or dying bodies sat the lair of which she was standing. Following the detailed paintings of events, she came to the picture of which the Ringwraith had foretold. Before her painted on the dark stone was an Elvin warrior piercing another. Both competing in their fair looks yet portraying anger towards one another.

"Ye doth not know thee father very well did ye?" The Ringwraith asked quietly as if afraid to disrupt the silence.

"No. I hardly ever saw him. But I knew he died in the Last Alliance of Elves and Men," Arshorina answered backing away from the vivid picture as if hurt. "He seemed to father everyone but his own daughter."

"Winning battles in war and returning may put pride in those whom are obedient. Pride goes before a fall. I was once prideful, yet I was warned before thyn own fall." With this, the Ringwraith turned and another wall lit with his spell binging command. "But for thee," he continued "death was no fall."

Turning around, Arshorina stared at yet another painted wall with a man who was shown being pierced, and others after him, as though a long timeline of this fallen king. Where the fair young looking man began to grow old, then began to rot before the very eyes of the painting. First into a bony figure with bulging eyes, rotten flesh still clinging to the white bone that broke through. His white hair becoming thin sickly strands, and his once well muscled body skintight and frail. The next was even worse, the man became like a phantom. Brilliant corpse like skin, the rotten skin caving into a black hole where a brilliant royal nose should have been, and the peeled flesh from where plump cheeks had rested only moments ago. The one after that sent horrifying shivers down her spine. The man or dying corpse was now only old bones that were slowly fading away, the brown bones filled with cracks, or complete segments were gone, filled with metal replacements. After that, and the last sat an empty clocked figure just like the once she was standing next to, only the one next to her held simple and rotten robes. Above the pictures was engraved, "The Witch King" and the words:

"Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of a

man will he fall."

"My doom lies nowhere, for I cannot be killed. Thy bones turned to dust, and thy spirit sent to the shadows. Only thyn anger and will to serve still lingers," the Ringwraith replied with gloom hinting his voice.

"You've been through so much pain and anguish." Arshorina replied, her hand moving to grasp the kings. "Why does not your Master release you from his bond?"

"We have to find the one ring and restore it to it's rightful place," the Witch King answered automatically. "Upon the hand of Lord Sauron."

"But didn't Lord Sauron die during the battle of the Ring?" Arshorina asked quoting history.

"He was merely defeated. The Ring survived however, and he is connected to it, just as it is connected to him. He simply disappeared with the rest of the nine, or us into the Shadow Land to resurface again in Dol Guldur in disguise. I can even show thee him as he is now, if thou would like." The black rider said.

"What do you mean when you said us into the Shadow Land? Where is this Shadow Land?" Arshorina asked the need of knowledge growing in her mind.

"There are nine rings given to the race of men, and one to rule them all. Seven were given to the dwarves, and three to the elves." The Ringwraith explained as he took Arshorinas arm and began to travel through the halls back to his throne room. "There are eight others like thee. However, I am the second in command after the Dark Lord, making thee their king. For I am the deadliest weapon that thy Master has at any moment without his ring." As he finished his explanation, the two were ascending a stairway that led to a high tower. It took them a moment to reach the top when the Ringwraith finished with a point of his armored hand, "There is his great eye. The only thing left of his body. It searches now for his ring of power."

As Arshorina looked out in his pointed direction, a fear like none other crept through her body robbing her of her spirit for only a moment until she could no longer look at it. But instead of looking away, she returned her gaze to the source of all evil and took in the power that it held.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Chapter** 4**

**Rocks and Ice**

**F**eelingherself upon a cold surface, Arshorina could hardly open her eyes. Her mind was searching her memory for any thought of how she had fallen to the ground. Once her eyes came into focus, she was staring into the dark abyss of the dark looming figure that was standing above her with what seemed a slightly worried hunch, but it could have been just her imagination that had sparked the emotion from the monster; marking that she hadn't been unconscious for long. Suddenly she realized that the Ringwraith was clasping his hands together before her whispering some spells with which were long forgotten and in a language forgotten to everyone but him.

Trying to get up, she was helped by the Witch King who suddenly stopped his chanting. And from the dark hood, he said bitterly, "Why dost thou find the Dark Lord a threat? Are ye not thy dark wondrous key to life? The connection to everything of dark pleasure of what I had thought?"

"What are you saying?" she asked, hardly recognizing her own voice as it cracked, and the king helped her to stand.

"Nothing," The Ringwraith said as though he were afraid to admit something in his past, then with a whisper added, "Nothing else matters. Ye are awake and safe, but do not fear the Dark Lord. He has many great things in store for ye elf."

Shivering in the cold, everything seemed to go by in a blur of speed. She never even knew how she had left the looming tower, but suddenly she was in another. This room was smaller than the throne room, and she appeared to be standing next to a bellowing fire, that seemed to charcoal the walls around her. Arshorina found that she also had a black heavy satin blanket around her shoulders as if a cape filled with cotton.

Looking around slowly, she wrapped the blanket around her as she saw the familiar statues of fell beasts, orcs and of course the Ringwraith upon his noble steed with eight others. Only he wore a rich crown from the depths of the pitch-blackness. But the rest of the room wasn't decorated like the other she had been in. Sighing, she had almost thought that she had gone mad.

"The Master stirs my Lord; there is no sensible time in having fantasies of this elf," a gargled voice protested that could be heard in Arshorinas ears as she continued to stare at the fire. "Gollem has released information on the ring of power. The other eight have arrived finally."

"I know slave!" came the irritated voice of the Witch King, then with a more calm voice continued, "The ring has called, but I do not want to leave at this time with the lady feeling this way. She still yet has to make a decision. Tell the others that they must go to the Shire. Search for the name Baggins, and that is were the ring is kept. I will join them soon. I must finish other businesses, to insure the safety of Angmar."

"Yes my Lord." The voice replied then steps could be heard moving away.

An almost silent mumble could be heard from the throne but it seemed to be garbled and hard to hear. Feeling the need to rise up, Arshorina stood on her feet and turned facing the king's throne. He held his clothed hand to his hood as if a real man would do when he is thinking. The mumbling slowed, and the hooded figure remained as he was, Arshorina approaching with silent feet.

"The ring has called, dear Arshorina. And I must soon need to go look for it. Ye will be safe here until I return. But first we must insure that ye truly want this gift that I have offered." The Ringwraith solemnly looked up at her, "Do ye accept? If not, then I will kill ye upon this very day, and the Dark Lord will be most displeased."

"Yes, my Lord," Arshorina replied as the Ringwraith stood to leave, "If you speak the truth about everything that you had whispered into my ear."

"I will first show ye where to sleep, and thy fortress is thou freely to roam about," The Ringwraith nodded, his tone hinted with the slight hope of happiness.

Taking the elf's cold hand, he led her downward, to what seemed like an eternity, the dark hall raising no fuss to his command of light. He had taken this hall only a few times, as everyone had insisted that he should have a bedroom from so long ago. Rarely using it, he would give it to her tonight, as a good faith payment. However, his mind sat brooding with what had been the truth. Of course for many years he had no doubts about the Dark Lords victory, however, he was beginning to have doubts. What if they didn't succeed and there was no rest for him? No restoration, and a possible future of everything that he desired. But what did he desire now?

Once entering through the double thick oak door, and with a word of command from the Ringwraiths invisible lips, Arshorina looked in awe. Before her, a large dark chamber of forest green, black and silver. On the far right, a large balcony covered in crumbling rock that overlooked the whole fortress, and the mountains beyond, the black see-through curtains blocked only a small portion of the archway. On the left, a large bookcase filled with dusty books of old, some books Arshorina guessed were his personal diaries, and spell books. A large fireplace sat at the opposite wall of which she stood, fixed with few black chairs and pillows of comfort. The bed stood in one corner, tilting to look at the magnificent view of the fortress. The black satin blanket on her shoulders matching that of the bed. The dark green pillows and the black satin sheets a match for the whole room. The floor a black tarnished marble, and the few candles were lighted with a green flame.

"This room, used to be mine, however I have not used it for such a long time, I am giving it to thee. Do what ye want to it." The Ringwraith said, looking upon the awe struck elf, a smile hinting his invisible lips.

After showing the elf her room, it was time for him to leave. With the elf at his side as always, he mounted yet another horse and she beheld him a goodbye like that of a queen saying goodbye to the king. The goblins and orcs that had been present looked in disbelief at how their master was acting so noble in front of the elf instead of the soulless drone that he had become. But none dared to snicker at the sight as the Witch King left, galloping through the large gates and onward with his journey for the one ring.

As he sped off into the black night, Arshorina looked upon him, not in pity but in love. He, the darkest, evilest and foulest of creatures that were given neither glory nor honor had held her in the highest respects; acting as humanly as possible for a creature that holds only hatred could show. As the gate began to close, the elf gave one last longing look to the Ringwraith. Of course, she had seen much evil in him, however, he had also showed her kindness, and hope. Though dark, it was still a hope that Arshorina would look to. But for now, to only convince the Ringwraith to love her in return.

"Fresh meat now that he has gone boys!" A goblin came up behind Arshorina and grabbed her by the hair and sniffed her scent.

"No!" An orc yelled grabbing the goblin by the throat, making him drop the elf. "She is the Witch King's possession! We eat only what is ours!"

"Why do you say Witch King, orc?" The goblin asked, grabbing Arshorina once more his slimy fingers grasping the thin strands of her white hair. "We are supposed to fear him. Do you not fear him?"

"I fear him just as any other orc should. Nothing a goblin should know." The orc grunted.

"Are you mocking us?" The goblin asked, releasing Arshorinas hair to grab his sword.

When the goblins hands left her hair, Arshorina ran from the scene that had quickly became a fight. Running, she took a dark tunnel of which no orc or other fowl creature came from.

The tunnel was dark, yet she knew that something dwelled deep in the dark abyss that was fowl, rank with death, but it was better than dealing with the masses that wanted to eat her. Creeping next to the walls, she squinted her eyes in order to faintly see the outlines of all the sculls and rocks of the tunnel. Disappearing deeper into the darkness, she could hear a type of slithering thud in the air and claws upon the cavern wall.

Reaching her hand out in front of her like a blind bat in the sun, she could see a outline very familiar to her. Advancing forward, the head of the beast lowered to her hand and nudged it slightly as though recognizing her scent. The soft scream erupted from it's large mouth as though greeting her into the darkness. And the hot breath smelled fowl to her nose, like that of rotten meat.

"You are the Nazgul that saved the Ringwraith and I. And I thank you greatly," Arshorina quietly whispered to the beast which she now touched with light hands.

The Nazgul grunted as in approval. Then continuing to move, it bent its neck as if saying that it wanted her on it's back. Obeying, Arshorina was suddenly upon the Witch Kings fell beast, holding on to nothing but scales. The Nazgul began to move slowly back into the abyss with which it came, it's neck bent low to make sure the safety of it's passenger.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Chapter** 5**

**The Nazguls Kingdom**

**A**s they moved slowly onward, Arshorina could see that there was a gray light that sprouted downward from what seemed to be a roof of a large cavern ahead of where the slow paced dragon crawled. Once erupting upon a large ledge, Arshorina glanced about in the murky darkness; spotting eight other Nazguls all of which were behind tombs of ancient people whom belonged before the third age.

The Nazgul who carried her leapt into the large space, and beat it's large wings, slowly rising upward to a grave much higher than the rest in many ways. As the Nazgul landed behind the grave, it gave a great roar to the rest of the fell beasts as they looked up in with grief. They let out a moan as if answering their chiefs. And a second moan for their own grave that they sheltered. The Nazgul were neither boasting nor prideful, but seeing that the grave had much honor and glory once, Arshorina was stunned to see the creature lay first his neck down upon the edge so that she could get off, then rest it's body behind it like the other fell beasts had done.

She was stunned to see how the fell beasts handled this honor with such calmness and a sense of pity. Looking upon the fell beasts grave, she could see not even a stone crumple from how old the grave was. But there was a gash not from a claw of the Nazgul but a gated work of art, slashed upon the slab which held a body imprint. Placing her hand upon the painful mark, she was drifted into another time.

Catching her breath, she stood, letting her hand fall from the gravestone, inhaling the sharp cold air. Dry leaves scattered from her hand to the floor as she too in the face of the grave now that there was no mark. Standing off to one side, came a quiet figure cloaked in a black robe. Recognizing this man as the Ringwraith she could see him drawing closer.

Unseething his sword from his holster, the music of the sword was of anger, hate, pity and despair. As the Ringwraith stood over the grave, he raised the sword above his head and slashed down, cutting into the stone as if it were cheese.

"Thy be a cursed fowl rotting carcass of pity, hate and emptiness. Thou wish that thy were dead, but dead thy can not be. Curse in vein and die a horrible death and fear, oh blessed death. Thy wish thou knew of such a thing. It even tastes good upon thyn lips. But soon!" The figure then knelt besides the grave, tears streaking the rotting face. "Woe be the day I accepted thy own doom from Suron! Woe be thy day." The Witch King then took his sword out of the rock and began to walk away in a sorrowing heap.

Looking upon the grave, she could faintly tell that there was a crowned ghastly white face, almost waxy with long white hair and crystal blue eyes of hate and love.

The mouth opened slowly and the waxy figure that seemed more like a ghost or spirit slowly said hopefully, "You are she." Then it sank into the rock with a hopeful glint upon its eyes, which were once washed in despair.

Reaching back, she could feel scales. Knowing that she was back to the present, she sat upon the ground looking upon the grave as if in awe. Her mind twirled with what she had seen, and how sad the Witch King really was. The Nazgul nudged her slightly as if bringing her to life around the dead grave. Then it lifted it's head and shook it lazily as if inciting her closer for the little warmth it had instead of letting her suffer the harsh cold night that was bellowing above them.

"It's icy tonight isn't it?" Arshorina asked the beast as it turned it's head to glance at her, it's lizard like eyes slowly slithering side to side.

The fell beast then lifted it's wing for her to move under, as though it were a tent. Arshorina moved underneath it, welcoming the warmth, feeling as though the Ringwraith was there with her. The hard slab of rock contained little soil, and there was no brush, but it would make do since she didn't want to face the orcs and goblins without her Ringwraith.

Hitting the hard ground, she softly curled next to the hard scales of the fell beast, the cold scales reminding her of the little frogs that she would kiss when she was just a child, hoping that they would turn into a prince and whisk her away. Hearing the slight thumps of the fell beasts heart, she soon found herself falling asleep.

Galloping across what seemed endless fields; the Ringwraith rode onward in a hurry to catch up with his fellow black riders. However, his mind was back upon his fortress with Arshorina. At the moment in time, she would be going to bed, her head falling upon his green velvet pillows, her fair body entwining itself with the silk sheets. His horse suddenly wined, as though reading his lustful thoughts. With which brought more thoughts of why he was thinking about the beautiful elf when his only thoughts and passion should be upon the ring. His dark lord wouldn't be happy at all to see that he was straying, his most trusted advisor. However, Arshorina was still upon his mind, his vision lusting for the beauty that she beheld. The evil intent behind her Elvin eyes made him wince madly, falling into her abyss sinking into madness because he could not have her. His every inch wanted so desperately to grope her body to make her his! But he knew that none could love a Ringwraith. None would even come as close as she had, and he had to give her an applause for doing such a demented deed.

Entering a forest, he could hear ahead of him the screeches of his fellow Ringwraiths. They had found something. Zooming ahead, he could hear the faint cries of _Shire, Baggins_. And he could feel the fear of the man that had given them an answer. However, it would be another half day before he would reach the Shire. But he continued on, the horse panting heavily, but not breaking it's gallop. However, within his horses breath he could feel hope. Just maybe he could be with his dear Arshorina and have a kingdom under his domain, the race of all that was good destroyed. The fortresses that he had so lonely desired, his and he would share his power with Arshorina. He would have her!

The fog crept around the two as they rode into the green lush hills. Of course he had lost all sense of color long ago, the hills seemed like a haze, and black shadows were that of the living souls as he passed by not bothering them even a glimpse. The sight of trees to him were forgotten, once his favorite thing to look at when he was just a child playing in the forest with his mother. Oh how he had forgotten what it felt like to walk bare footed in the grass. But he had turned from that path a long time ago when he had chosen to walk the path of the dark sourcer. To kill the innocent to further his own needs and dark ambitions.

Galloping alongside a rode, he was soon nearing the Shire, and dawn was approaching steadily. Soon, he would have the ring! All of his efforts wouldn't be in vein! He kicked the horse in the ribs, making it scream in pain, but it continued to move, it's red eyes burning with the utmost fury of it's master. The blood poured from it's mouth, and dripped down it's legs to it's hooves.

The sun rose, almost blinding the Ringwraith from the bright light that it produced. Steering his horse, he made a sharp turn, and galloped for the comfort of the trees to block out the dreaded warmth. This path, he hardly recognized, and when he did, he grunted knowing that this path would take him another half a day to reach the Shire. Traveling this road however, seemed to go in his favor. A silent call came whispering through the leaves of three hobbits. Could it be them?

Stopping, he could feel a thud against the earth. As though a beckoning whine to be found. The familiar call of the one ring, could it be? Pulling the reins of his steed, the black mare stopped, it's hooves splattering blood upon the orange leaves.

Jumping off, his metal boots marred the perfect soil, making it tainted forever. He called out silently for the unseen object, feeling it close, but he was not sure. Touching a solid object, he leaned over it, sniffing the air, in hopes that he could smell something out of place. Something that had a distant smell of Mordor. Muttering a spell, he waited for his insects and creatures of many to find anything out of place upon the solid object, their eyes seeing more than his could ever see.

His hand clasped his sword; the other thumbed the hard object before him that smelled of bark and dirt. Suddenly, a noise in the distance, causing his senses to scream. Had he been wrong? Letting a piercing scream issue, he had smelt for a moment Mordor, and the fires of Mount Doom. Yes, he was close. Racing to his horse, he continued upon the road, in high chase after the sound that he had heard.

However, this also meant that the hobbit knew that the nine were sent to capture him. But how? And where would this young thing wander to in order to get rid of it? This was even more pain to him then what was required. He had had high hopes to return to his fortress after restoring the ring to its rightful owner to be with the Elvin woman whom he had left in such a disgrace. He was not yet finished with her, in explaining all so that she could serve him. These hobbits would pay for what they had done to his withered life, keeping the ring for themselves, then fleeing once they had caught wind of him coming. Why couldn't they just give it up, so that he may find rest, and restoration? But life, he concluded, wasn't so simple as some wished.

Suddenly a piercing scream in the dark, issuing from one of the nine. They had found the three hobbits. _Heading to the river. Cut them off! _The screams whispered to his ears. Piercing the side of the horse, it galloped on as fast of the wind rustling through the trees. It wouldn't be long now.

He was joined by another upon horse back, this one a little shorter than he, but aiming for the same purpose. Ahead, galloping upon a turn, another sat upon his horse. but the other six were no where to be seen. Pulling out his sword, he gave a shout of punishment toward the others if they would fail.

"Bring me thy ring, or perish before the Dark Lords gaze!" The Witch King hissed into the cold air.

The horse flew through the road, it's breath labored, but it didn't fear to die. And soon the Witch King came upon a little blob of darkness that could very well be a hobbit. Reaching out, he attempted to grab the cloak that the little thing possessed, knowing that if one would fall, the others would come after. Such a pity. However, his fingers came short of what they were expected. Screeching into the air, suddenly, the figure leapt. The horse stopped, and raised it's body. Rushing water! Pure in form, and could wash away any sinful deed. Blast! he thought, turning his horse away from the cleansing stream. Signaling for the remaining riders, he continued upon the road, racing the next gap, where the four that were with him would wait.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Chapter **6**

**Day of Ruin**

Years in despair. That was what it seemed to be to the Witch King as he stood in front of the four little men that seemed such a pestilence. But no more. After chasing them through the inn, and looking like a fool, here they truly were. Through his eyes, he could see one of them holding the scent of Mordor, the alum of the one ring, and as much as he wanted to laugh cruelly, he held back knowing how foolish he would appear. But finally, they would be at peace, with everything , and his purpose would be served. No matter how happy the thought was to even imagine what his peace would be, he couldn't help but to think of Arshorina. With these doubts in mind they were interrupted by a face in white mist. It was the Ring! He could sense the sweet smell of it, and the evil soul that had taken it from them all.

"Give thou thy Ring, child, and I will spare ye the many pains I have in store for thou," The Witch King whispered to the young hobbit.

"No!" The hobbit yelled his face contorting in fear.

"How dare ye deify thine will!" Shrieked the Witch king, the morgal blade that he had taken out only a few minutes before now piercing into the hobbits flesh, above the heart.

But once again, he was interrupted, this time by a man who held fire. Screaming, not in pain, but anger, pulled the morgal blade and threw it against the ground, to only flee when his robes caught on fire.

Arshorina awoke atop a cold slab of stone, with a startle as she heard footsteps clanking toward her. She had spent four days with the fell beasts, her back ached so terribly and she wasn't sure if she could save herself from any orcs or goblins that might come in. Crouching behind the gravestone, she hoped that it was nothing, watching the Nazgul with anticipation. But it only slithered its head downward as if bowing. Confused, she arose wondering who it was.

"Thoust have been down here this whole time?" Asked the Witch King as if amazed at the sight of her among his beasts.

Nodding, she replied watching the black rider come closer, "They have been most pleasant company. Much better than the ones above who want to eat me."

"Please accept thy apologies, thy servants will do anything for fresh meat. They will be punished, I promise ye this," the Witch King replied, then holding out his hand, he continued, "Come, thou must be famished. I will send for meat and bread."

Taking his hand, Arshorina bid the fell beast goodbye, and then let the King lead the way out, knowing full well that she had forgotten it. Her stomach rumbled slightly, as the Witch King slowly helped her off of a sharp ledge that jutted out into the darkness. Slipping slightly, the gloved hand of the hooded man grasped her wrist so tightly that she gave out a yelp. The Witch Kings other arms steadied her fall, and then as though feeling ashamed of hurting her, he bowed his head a little.

Watching him stutter an apology, Arshorina laughed. The evil that everyone saw in him wasn't the same as what she had seen. Of course, she had seen from him much evil, however, the little soul that he still possessed was quite interesting to her. She had at that moment almost wanted to tell him that she was falling in love. However, she held her words, knowing that he was only a servant, and would soon be disposed of. The though of him fading in front of her made tears well in her eyes. What would she do when he was no more? His body even shuddered at her touch it seemed. Or was this just another figment of her lust for him that made him look as though he loved her as well.

Walking among the dark halls of the great tunnel, the Witch King easily dodged the ruins and rocks that blocked more fowl things in life than what his minions had possessed. What was even worse was that he had heard rumors from his goblin hordes in the mining tunnels after they had defeated the dwarfs that the notorious demon was rising from it's slumber. And what was even worse was that soon, he would have to convince the burning demon that had destroyed much of his forces in the past to come and serve the Dark Lord. He had to convince the little annoyance to serve under him. Shaking his head slowly, he guided Arshorina threw a maze of jutting stone that was once a great fortress of the dwarves of long passed ages, even from before he was a child. Their steps echoed throughout the chamber, the cracking of old bones that were beginning to disengage into the dark earth. He was surprised that his fell beasts had not yet destroyed most of them from their large feet.

Taking Arshorinas hand once more, he forced it close to him, attempting to get her out of harms way, for an arrow stuck up from the ground, it's head as sharp as a needle. This was no goblin arrow. Bending, he examined it more thoroughly. It was that of a wizard. Or a high elf. Either way, it had magical properties. Yanking it out of the ground, he continued with the beautiful Arshorina, his lustful thoughts returning to haunt him, as he watched her every movement, memorizing her every curve. Her hair streaking in front of him, he even seemed to memorize each strand of hair that went astray. Knowing that even she couldn't be perfect, even though she was in his eyes. The perfect black stench of evil, the purest of all things. He could see now why the Dark Lord had given him these visions of her. But he had to remind himself that she was just a tool, soon to be disposed of, and he couldn't love something that would soon be gone. He sighed in grief.

"What is the matter?" Arshorina asked hearing the Ringwraiths moan of agony.

The Witch King gazed at the elf, and if he still had a face, it would have shown love, tears of sadness streaking down his white cheeks, and his blue lustful eyes swallowing up her body. However, to her, he thought, I must look like a cruel and ugly monster, that shows no remorse or love. "Nothing," he growled, and quickly led her forward, his thoughts still betraying his actions. Looking at the ruins as he guided his prize through, he attempted to sink his thoughts into memory in an attempt to forget all about Arshorina.

Walking slowly over the charred land, the Witch King looked about himself for the king of Amon Sul, the great King Arveleg, he suddenly spotted the tall man, his purple robes of royalty clashing against the white sky. Approaching the man, he spotted the black ball that he had been after. From what his master had called for. The Palantir, the seeing stone which would make his many Numenorean sorcerers a power to match any wizards. And he would have much more powers that what he already possessed once the dead souls of the many that sacrificed themselves to the ball would escape to be in his being. However, the little king had suddenly spotted the big black force of evil in the mist of the fight. Looking out at the feared face of the man, the Witch King suddenly knew that the little cur would flee.

Picking up his mace from the victim that he had just smitted against the cascade of snow, he picked up his pace, attempting to catch the king before he would flee upon his brown horse. Jumping over the dead piled bodies, he continued his pursuit, stabbing anyone that would come in his way, the pleasure of war in his very breath, and the hatred consuming his body and mind. He had seen the man flee to his horse, once he had climbed the tower stairs, and it sickened him to know that the much-feared king to most of the tower of Carn Dum was now fleeing to save his own skin.

Anger burned in his eyes, as he knew that once the man was on his horse, he wouldn't be able to stop him, and at the moment, he was saddling up. The thick armored legs, giving a clank as the horse began to bear his weight. "Morgomir!" The Witch King shouted out in high hopes that his luitientit would be able to listen. "Thy king rides swiftly for thy Dunedain fort! Catch him and bring thee thy Palantir."

From the great battle, a cry issued, and with a horde of goblins and the swiftest orcs and trolls came the horribly scarred goblin with masses fit for a small battle, and rode out to catch the fleeing king. As the Witch Kings robes flung about him, he charged the opposite direction to finish the battle. His mace in one hand, and his mighty sword in the other claimed many lives, both of goblin and man. The war trolls next to him battered the large groups of horsemen that ran amuck, and when blood splattered across the Witch Kings helm did he release a screech that signaled for bloodshed, fueling the anger and hatred in all of his armed masses. And bringing fear to those who opposed him.

Soon, as dawn turned to dusk, the war slowed and as one last man was slain by the hand of the Ringwraith did he finally stop to proclaim that the fortress was theirs. As he watched his army set up camp and mills in order to make their living and more savable orcs, did the Witch King finally enter the great tower of Amon Sul of which he had dreamed about as a child to one day rule. And now, as he sat upon the gloried throne did he laugh.

A small goblin entered the white marble room, it's eyes glancing nervously around itself as though it didn't know what to do when summoned the thing stopped and bowed on it's knees in fear to the Witch King, and asked, "You summoned me?"

"Send thy fastest runner to retrieve Rogash Hwaldar and Orrin from our base. I want them as soon as possible, and if ye fail to bring them by tonight's strokes of eleven, shall I throw ye into the fire and ash of thee burning dead." The Witch King ordered, his gloved hand tapping the hard wood impatiently, wondering when his lieutenant would arrive with the ball.

Watching the goblin scurry off, the Witch King settled into the chair, his black metallic armor bringing a tainted cloud over the once brilliant white of the tower. But he had finally concoured one of his dreams. The dream to rule. Only there was a price for his traitorous deed. It was because of Lord Suron that he was able to have so much power. And yet, he was a servant to the Dark Lord. How did this ever come about? He sat upon the throne thinking about the matter until suddenly the doors were burst open and in came three cloaked men. Who came in a rush and knelt before him.

"Yes, mi Lord, ye called," one stated with a deep raspy voice.

Looking up, he could see that dawn was arising. "Why be thee late?"

His servants looked up in confusion as though not knowing the answer to his absurd question. "We rode as quickly as we could Iron King," another spoke his voice seething like a snake.

The king's eyes narrowed at the rude comment, and he plucked carelessly at the purple flower that stood upon his pedestal that had been marked for the previous kings flower. Now all that remained was the brown thorny stick, the water turning green and the decay of the pedals known to everyone that set eyes upon it. What puzzled the king was that once the pedals would touch his hand, it would not change color, like that of every other living thing that would touch his hands would turn black. However, these pedals seemed different, as though they were already prone to darkness.

Suddenly, the thick oak doors opened, making the Witch Kings head rise into the air, and the surprised sorcerers take a stance in fear to protect their king. However, though the doors came Morgomir, in his thick arms held a black cloth. "My Lord," the tall luitientit started, handing the Ringwraith the cloth, "I have retrieved the Palantir, and however the accursed king is dead, and with his final breath, smashed the Palantir upon the grounds."

Flipping the black sheet from the ball, the Witch King growled in anger seeing that the Palantir had been indeed smashed. The shards were scattered everywhere, but at least they were large. "Did ye get them all?" He asked the luitientit, anger hinting his voice.

"Yes, my king." Morgomir replied, his voice shaking with fear at the terror that was holding in his king's voice.

Giving a sigh, he seeked for the Dark Lords advise. The ball had been smashed; he whispered out in the shadow of his mind, and now what could I do with this? _Glob! _Came a sharp reply, _Krimp ul_! And as quickly as the words came did they go from his mind.

"Arrange the shards in the way that they were smashed thou fool!" The King growled, his anger rising a little from the fowl remark that he had just received from his master.

Quickly Morgomir picked at the shards until they formed a small ball like that of a peeled orange that had been sliced on a plate to eat. Once this was done, the Witch King grabbed the shards and held them together binding them together with his hands. Before everyone's very eyes, the ball began to let out a sickly sound, as though a spider's web ejecting from its sack to stick to the wall. And the shards were once more attached to form a round black ball. As the last piece came into place, a green jolt was sent into the Witch Kings arms traveling into what seemed his very soul. And the power that he felt was unlike any that he had ever experienced. He didn't need this useless device any more.

"Orrin," the Witch King boomed with much power, his voice stinging the pure air with darkness, "take thee Palantir to the base, use it to increase the power of ye sorcerers, bind it to thy soul, only then will ye become powerful. Do thy deeds and build thee an army worthy of Suron!"

"Yes, my Lord," Orrin replied, his rotten teeth showing in an evil smile after taking the Palantir from the Witch Kings hands and then swept out the door of the tower to return to Angmar.

"What did you find," Arshorina asked attempting to break the long silence. "Meaning when you were away." She continued once she looked into his empty hood and the long pause that issued as though he didn't understand.

"Four hobbits have thy Ring of power. However, they are with thee elf's now." The Witch King spat his reply the anger apparent in his voice. "They were in thy clutches, however, they escaped their tragic fait."

"Well, I'm glad that you came back. It must have been some fight." Arshorina continued, her suspicions of his burnt robes making an appeal to the King.

"Not much of one at all," The Ringwraith continued. "Though, I did see the little hobbit that bore the ring. Such a young boy. Not older than a wee teen. I find it interesting that it would come to him."

"And he's with the elves now?" Arshorina asked.

The Witch King nodded, his gaze falling back to the ground. Suddenly, a soft moan escaping his hood. Looking up, he said, "He saw my true self. Through the fog, and the white wisps of everything in the shadows. He saw. He saw me."

"Is that a bad thing?" Asked Arshorina, leaving his gloved hand to flip a strand of hair out of her eyes.

There was only silence from the dark hood, as the Ringwraith watched to steadily move to remove the stray piece of dead matter. His impatient tap upon the dusty ground making a small echo off of the rock walls that surrounded them. Looking up, Arshorina asked again, and for a while the Ringwraith sat as though marked for stupidity, looking upon her with what might have been a dazed look. "I- I had wanted to keep it a secret from the living, only a select few I would someday allow to glance upon it." The Ringwraith finally replied, his voice masking the truth behind the deceiving words. "It is a twisted revolting thing,"

Arshorina hinted his deceit but didn't provoke him to talk more. She knew that he was hiding the truth, however, she smiled gently and grabbed his hand once more as they continued their walk. "I would like to one day see it. Could I?"

The Ringwraiths hands clutched harder upon her delicate bones, and a cold freeze swept across her skin making her flinch slightly. "I forbid it." Came the harsh words from the dark abyss. "It is ugly and vial. Such beauty should not be vexed to look upon such a horror."

As the cold slowly came to a stop, Arshorina looked down as though ashamed for asking to see it. However, the curiosity remained, like a dark cloud of rain above the mountaintops. But she was happy. A slight blush came into her cheeks, and warmth overrode the bitter cold that the Ringwraith offered in his anger. He did care, she thought, her thoughts making her almost laugh in joy. But ahead, loud noises could be heard. They were approaching life once more. The loud hammers of steel upon steel, the growls and shouts of curses that boiled the black blood, and the sizzling of the liquid metal being cooled to make the armor of the many hordes of goblins that were being bred for only one purpose. The many screams of those who were being tortured made her dizzy, and the many that were torturing others for pleasure sickened her as they came out of the tunnel.

Her head spun from the sight of it all. The whips that cracked upon others flesh and the giggles that issued from the gargling mouths of stench and the blood that splattered upon the ground as one of the horde would look up to the dark sky's in a pitying plea for redemption, or death. However, it would never come as the beating continued. The colorful race of men with their scarf's wrapped around gold metal watched greedily from the sidelines, waiting for the next beating or fight. Their long sticks at the ready for anyone that would challenge them. Men from the sea with long beards like those of the dwarfs sat drinking the sickly sweet liquid that they had brought by the barrels from over seas where they hail in the forgotten lands of plunder. And as the Witch King entered the mass crowds did the fighting brawl of the masses become more bloody as though attempting to prove their worth to the man dressed in black robes.

The Ringwraith looked about and gave silent growls of what seemed to be congratulations. Small chuckles issued from the dark hood and he whispered to Arshorina, "They are all fools to think that I care."

"Whom do you care for?" Arshorina asked, in hopes that he would finally speak the truth about his secret love for her.

"No one," The Ringwraith lied looking away in a hurriedly fashion in hopes that the elf wouldn't see his discomfort.

"No one," Arshorina repeated to herself, her shoulder slumping a little. Her advancement on him had been turned down, and her spirit was weakened. But she continued after him, wondering why he wouldn't tell his mind.

The Witch King continued to look out upon the goblins and men, almost afraid to look upon the woman next to him. Even though her steps were normal, he hinted anger in her breath. In any moment he would be punished, he knew. Almost cringing, he waited for some comment that would betray his feelings. Peering into the mass of blurs, he could spot large objects in his way, but he could smell all of the sweat and blood. The lustful looks upon his Arshorina from the men who haven't been laid in years. Anger filled his hollow hood, and he attempted to quicken his pace in order to take her to her chamber before any comments would surface about her. The goblins he could care less about for they reeked of fear, and if they would ever make an approach to her it would be for meat alone. Pretty women meant nothing to them; it was the men that made the Ringwraith worry.

"Have you taken the sights of the fortress to your liking?" The Ringwraith asked suddenly breaking the chain of silence as they approached the blood stained steps that led to the great halls of his domain.

"I didn't really get the chance to look actually." Arshorina replied, letting go of her anger from before. "Maybe you could show me before the night has ended."

However, the Witch King shook his hooded head. "Ye need to rest. Spending all of that time inside the cave and upon slabs of rock must not have been comfortable. Tonight ye shall rest, and tomorrow I shall walk with ye to whatever chamber ye wish."

"And what of dinner?" Arshorina asked her tone hinting that of hunger.

"It shall be served in thy bed chambers. I shall accompany ye until thee servant leaves due to previous encounters with them." The Ringwraith answered, looking out from the rail suddenly as a Nazgul swept passed the large space, and picked up a goblin to devour.

The steps became quite steep as they came closer to the doors that separated the outside world and the fortress from each other. Looking out with the Ringwraith, Arshorina caught sight of the magnificent Nazgul that circled high in the air and ate before it's master the tiny orc that it held in it's clutches. A scream could be heard only for an instant, however with all of the screams from below it melded to the same to her ears. As the Nazgul devoured its prey, blood rained upon the masses below it, and a limb fell from it's mouth only to hit a statue in a sickening splat.

Below, the men sat upon barrels with women in their laps, others were throwing the women out to the beasts and taking another to rape. Arshorina gasped and turned away once she peered upon a couple a tanned man raping a woman upon the ground with goblins surrounding them waiting for their meal. This diverted the Ringwraiths attention from his beast to her.

"Are ye alright?" He asked with a worried tone, approaching her.

"Your men are quite eager to have women around this place. Do they not love the ones with whom they are touching? I see many feeding them to the goblins in order to have another woman to vex." Arshorina sighed, disgusted at what she had just witnessed.

"They are like cattle to the men, but at least it feeds the goblins." The Witch King mumbled, taking Arshorinas hand once more and continued to the door.

Sighing, Arshorina followed; glad to be rid of the sight.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Desire

Entering the dark bedchamber, Arshorina watched as the Ringwraith once again light the room in green light from the words of his mouth that she couldn't hear. "What do you say when you light the room?" She asked suddenly.

"Gûk- sha uzul ghaash." The Ringwraith replied, the hiss of his voice apparent with the dark speech. "It is thy language of this land. It means "fill with green fire.'"

"Gûk-sha uzul ghaash." Arshorina attempted, her accent failing to meet the Ringwraiths expectations.

"No, ye voice must mean hate, envy if ye must. That is thee only way to speak it correctly." He taught, once again uttering the language. Taking to practice it, she finally succeeded with a nod from the hood. "Now, attempt to light thine way. Fûth- bûrzum; agh nork-za mur ishi-u lab zaa"

Darkness flooded the once lit room, and at once Arshorina felt alone. Her parched lips opened, and she stammered in a soft whisper, "Gûk-sha uzul ghaash." Once finishing the thick words, nothing happened, the darkness was still abroad, taking in what seemed to be her soul. "Gûk-sha uzul ghaash!"

Her words were filled with hate, the Ringwraith noted as he quietly moved behind her, smelling at her neck, his lust for her unbearable. He snickered lightly to think that it would be so easy to take her this instant. She was so frail it seemed in the haze that he saw threw the mist of his world. And with the malice hinting her voice, it seemed as though he didn't need to teach her anything. But not able to control himself any longer, he reached to take her neck into his grasp, to bend it to him. However, the bright green fires blared with the hate in her voice, and at once she looked out in the room as though to spot him. Taking his hand back, he wisped, "Good. Your dinner will be here shortly. Roasted pig and Warg meat with bread."

Watching her twirl around, he attempted to look away but instead was held fast by her eyes. Everything about her it seemed he was falling in love with. Even more than power, or life he thought suddenly and opening his invisible mouth he started, "Arshorina, I-" Suddenly a sickly smell flooded the stairway and before he could reveal his secret, a goblin entered the room carting a tray full of food. "Shall leave ye now."

Taking leave, he ever so gently traced his steps until he could no longer see the room of what he once called his. Stopping, he leaned against the black stonewalls, and sighed. He had almost babbled his own secret to the woman! His master would be furious to know that he had taken to feel love for this tool of his. Being in love with this divine evil would be forbidden to such a lowly servant as him to the likes of his master. Divinity is only meant for divine folk. Taking his stance from the wall, he left the dark hall to once again sit upon his dark throne and wail at nothing.

Arshorina was surprised at his sudden removal and she was left staring at the goblin that stood with the tray of food, and a stream of drool dropping down its chin. Taking the bread off the tray, she waved at the goblin in a fashion to tell it that it could have the meat since it was rather good at controlling itself from not devouring the tasty meat. The goblin instantly dropped the tray upon the black marble table and shoved its green face into the red meat. The black eyes would look up once in a while and the sharp teeth cracked into the bones as the monster lapped at the plate like a dog.

Taking a bite of her bread, she noted that the goblin had finished before she finished a bite of her own meal as it stood before her and gave her a bow. Watching the thing leave, she sighed chewing the rotten bread that she had received. Of course, since the Ringwraith didn't eat, he didn't care about food for his army. And what would he care for her anyway? Losing her appetite, she set the bread down and approached the bed. The fabric felt so wonderful to her especially when she had been sleeping upon the stone of the earth for a while. But yet there was something to this bed that disgusted her. Closing her eyes, she was soon in another time.

The room was barely lit, but the sun from outside steamed in the slit of a window. The table was laden with food, green grapes cheese, meat, tomatoes, wine, and candles. There were two plates set next to each other piled with bones from the carved meat. The green fire was now orange, yellow, and red. Blankets were flung everywhere among the bear and otter skins while the gray statues of beasts and hero's remained barren. Statues of the divine god's circled the room, one remained above all and it was dressed in black armor with red eyes holding a mace.

It looked a lot like her Ringwraith except a face of rage was visible instead of the hollow hole that was covered by the black hood that she always saw. Turning to the bed, she stepped back from the pole that she clung to. Before her upon the crumpled sheets and blankets, the stench of wine and love. A man and a woman entwined in mortal ecstasy, each of their hands entwining into each other's hair. The woman seemed sickly as though drugged or poisoned, with some dark magic as she lay upon the thin man. Following the almost bone like structure of the being that clasped the woman's hair, she could see that he was still cloaked.

The man in the cloak suddenly moaned gently in the woman's ear and rather quickly lifted her into his strong embrace. Walking slowly around the bed, her hand following the curves within the black ivory she came to a stop seeing the man for who he was. The face was a skull as the hood turned to look upon her as though he knew that she was there watching him make love to this woman. Some skin still rested upon the white bone, and as the cloak moved slightly she glanced away not wanting to know what was underneath.

The fire she noted soon retuned to the normal green just as soon as she heard the man and woman gasp their responses to each other. Her breath was fast as she turned to look upon the bed, only to find that it was empty. Unclasping her hands from the ivory, her muscles relaxed, however, her mind was far from anything in life. The form that she had seen with the skull was the same as upon the wall when the Ringwraith had shown her what his different forms were throughout the many millenniums. Sitting upon the bed, she sighed once more.

She had just seen the Ringwraith raping some other woman through black magic. However, his magic was cruel, as though an evil demon was sparring with his heart over the woman and his lust was so much that it was thick in the air as he looked at her. Was he that lonely then that he needed magic in the aid of sex? Even though he looked like a living skeleton, to Arshorina it made her quiver to know that he had done such a terrifying act when he still was a material. To her however, for the lust of flesh never mattered, until she met the Ringwraith. Every night as she began to realize was that she begged to see his real form, and when he came back to say that someone else had seen his true form it almost put her into an uproar. However, she remained silent as he continued and led her out of the cave. But he seemed so rude to her while walking back to the fortress when once he seemed kind and not like the stories that she had heard of him.

Standing, she wrapped the silk dress around her and paced the room continuing to think. Of course he had stated that he cared for nothing, but why then did he save her from the cruel hands of the elves that seeked to harm her? Why did he bring her to his fortress, and to not take her like he had many times before her she assumed? Many questions were left unanswered as she continued to pace, her feet tingling at the cool stone below her.

Flipping her hair, she huffed loudly and since she could not sleep decided to walk up the stairs. Hoping to find her Ringwraith, she walked about the fortress, first to see the portrait of him in the hall. Muttering once more under her breath to light the fires along the tower walls, "Gûk-sha uzul ghaash."

The fire lit the walls enabling her to see the steep stairs. Moaning could be heard, almost as though threw the breeze, however, Arshorina ignored the cries, and continued up the stairs. It seemed darker without her Ringwraith by her side, but then everything did without his presence. Even though in tales she had encountered with him it seemed quite the opposite. Her father had stated that it seemed that he was covered in a shroud of darkness, and everywhere he went, it tainted the land as well, leaving it barren, and the soil black. To her however, now that she was in the graces of the Ringwraith, it seemed that all hope and love was gone from the room of where earlier he stood. Shivering slightly, she had faced the reality that she loved him.

Reaching the last step, she wrapped her nightgown tightly to her body, a cold chill of air escaping the outside to run across her spine. Looking upon the walls, she could see the Ringwraith, his mortal form to become nothing. As a mortal, he seemed strong, almost angelic all for his eyes, which burned with hatred for all things, and the power to rule. What set him apart from most mortal men was his hair and boyish futures. Long white strands hung into the black armor and the white marble skin blended well with the black wall. His lips were thin and no hair was visible while his brow was furrowed in an expression only a king of men would know. His long fingers folded atop the hilt of his sword, and his black cloak blended with the ground covering his feet. The ring upon his neck was silver with a red eye in the middle and strange inscriptions along the side. Why the red eye? All the other rings that were forged were by the elves, however this one held its own purpose, she concluded; not yet knowing why it resembled something evil. Something from long ago, like a folk tale long forgotten even among her people.

Going against the wall, she raised her hand and lightly touched the stone of where her Ringwraith stood for all to see for the rest of life. Humming slightly, she turned to leave, wanting to explore the throne room a little bit more before roaming the rest of the fortress. Then hopefully she would be tired by then.

Walking down the stairs once more, she didn't bother to utter the words she had heard of what made the fire turn to darkness by the Witch Kings voice, instead she left the fire burning. Taking the last bit of stairs, she lightly touched the floor her bare feet making a noise only a rat could hear in the mist of night. Her feet lightly padded against the stone until she reached another hallway that led to an outside window of which took interest to her. Standing in the cool breeze, a sudden realization flooded her mind as a booming voice sleek with tainted evil whispered through the breeze and reached her ear, "Why do you stay with my servant? Look at how evil you have become. Leave him and come to me."

Arshorina looked about her to find nothing, instead she closed her eyes and opened her mind to find the large eye that she had seen earlier staring at her, boring into her mind, into her feelings and thoughts. This thing was speaking to her. "I stay because I want to," she replied to the empty air around her.

"I would have you, a goddess among the world, that is what you are. Why stay with a demon's boy? When you could be with a god. Bare me a heir of which will inherit my place if ever I die. Come to me, be my bride and sit by my side in a throne. Do not linger with that half-breed any longer. He is nothing to you, and my plan." The eye continued, images of splendor and riches filling her mind, along with temptations of the flesh.

Opening her eyes, fear shook her body and she turned not wanting anymore of this and shouted out to the wind, "No!" Then running, she left the window and fled to the throne room in a mad rush.

"Mat kramp –izg sigûrz –ûr za tor faand? Za forzunk sh ta gaakh ozt- zatal dushûrz –ishi tob tabz slaium. –Izg nargzab- tob zatal! -Izg nargzab- tob kraur -u throqu- ghaampronk! Tob nartum –ishi za mur ug narmok ah sorr baga –u -izish, mat brus- -izg lûmp zatal dhognûrz sh –u brus- za faand -Izg prakhum –u kul- -ob brogb- -u Sauron sh ghurn? Ah! –Izg nargzab- tob flok -u hul -ri agh –izub krûr sh bri shiik- aklash –ishi –izish khlaat! Mat zaug- Sauron brus- tob? Mat paashnar- -Izg?" The Witch King slammed his fist against the marble floor, his moans once again escaping his empty hood, and his screeches filling the room. Then he continued to speak with the black tongue, "-Izg zaug- brus- tob! Sauron tug shulg- gorgulb- tob agh snû af- tob kraat, amukh –Izg gorgulb- brus- tob gugs -ishi ul uzg -ob burgûl! Akh za ug mash -Izg brus- kramp-, nork- tob –u ul uzg –ob burgûl, gaakh tob hon- -izish –ûr amirz -Izg zi!"

Clenching his fists together, he smiled lightly then turned around to find his beautiful Arshorina behind him in the door. Of course he didn't need to worry about her listening to him since she knew nothing of the language. Standing to his full height, he silently strode to where she stood, her white gown making him almost drool with lust.

However, once reaching her, he stopped as though an invisible force had lifted her head to his face. Tears marred her beauty and fear contorted her face, her stance was shaky and her hair was in disarray. What had she seen? Taking her hand, he asked in the tongue of man, "What is thy matter fair maiden?"

With one single movement, the Witch King could feel her body against his, her trembling limbs against his robes while she wrapped her arms around him. "Your lord wants me to bare him a child," she stammered while the tears once more flared and her eyes puffed with them.

Hearing this, the Witch King moaned lightly, what he was going to speak with her now gone, replaced with malice toward his master. Wrapping his arms around her, he ran his gloved fingers threw her hair attempting to comfort her while replying in a believable lie, "This is good, after all that is the only reason why ye are here. My master has taken a liking to ye."

"But I don't want to leave you," Arshorina continued, not wanting any of his comfort however buried her face deeper into his cloak.

"Why?" The Ringwraith asked, looking up at the ceiling.

"Because I love you, I want to be with you." Arshorina cried.

Gasping, the Witch King looked down upon his beautiful Arshorina, and sighed, brushing the tears from her upturned face. Realizing that she was speaking the truth, he fell into her arms, lowering his head to her neck and sniffing her sent once more, his breath becoming raspier as he replied, "How many day's have I looked upon thyn face and told a lie! And I am commanded to tell ye another, but no more! Though being a servant, I as well want to be with ye, to hold ye in my grasp forever, to love ye forever!"

"Then tell your master that you love me! Maybe he will not have me when I don't want to be with that thing. I want only you Ringwraith," Arshorina stated, looking into his bare hood attempting to imagine his face smiling at her threw the hood.

"It is only in your power that ye can sway my master. I am only a low servant; service and loyalty is the only thing that I can offer. Ye are like a god in his eyes, and he will listen besides he has another love, lost beyond all reckon that he must deal with." The Ringwraith answered taking her hands into his wishing only that he had the lips to kiss her. But he knew that it would do no good, the master would never allow it. Just to be with her at the moment like this so close to taking her as his own, if the master would see they would die. He needed to bring her to a place that was his, where he truly ruled. The shadow realm would be the only place like that. Sighing, he continued, "I want to take you somewhere. You will have to go in of your free will."

Arshorina looked upon the darkness of the Ringwraith willing to go anywhere just as long as she had him by her side. "I will go of my free will," she replied still clinging onto him.

Note: What the Witch King says in the Black Speech

Why do I long for this beautiful maiden? This thorn as it may seem so magical in her own life. I want her so! I want her body to devour mine! Her absence in this room is like a cruel poison to me, why have I fallen so far as to have this maiden who I fancy to be of favor to Sauron as well? Ah! I want her hair to flow between my fingers as she screams music in my ear! Why must Sauron have her? Why cannot I?

I must have her! Sauron only would use her and then throw her away, when I would have her even in the land of shadows! Yes that is what I must do, take her to the land of shadows, let her see me for who I am!


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Honor and Glory

The Ringwraith clasped his hands over Arshorina's glad to be with her. In a few hours he knew that she would be his entirely body and soul. In all of eternity it seemed this was the first time that he had made a strike against the master. Nothing came to this even when before he was given the ring, he had always seemed to wish to have an agenda of his own. But now here he was years later breaking his vow to the dark lord and doing something he felt deep down was right. In some mystical void long forgotten as though a voice of power was commanding him to do this, as he needed it to. And in his arms he held the one whom he loved, the only one with as much darkness in her as him. This would be a great gift to the master he told himself suddenly the other part of him that was still the servant screamed out, but he shoved the thought aside ashamed that he would think that of his love. Before him images flashed of Arshorina and his master making love when the ring of power came back to him, and he standing aside watching them obediently. Watching her suffer from one who she didn't love. This made his grip on her tight as he continued to see images flooding his mind of the two. He would never give Arshorina to his master, he concluded out of greed and love. He would even die for her if needed be, but he still needed to convince his master that she was not the one for him. It was the ring that was his, his only love in life. He had been there when it was made in the fire, and he had seen the dark lord pour his hate and malice into the gold as he spun it in his hand. Anyone could tell that he loved it, and the ring loved him in return. It was old magic, something he knew nothing about.

Even though it seemed his master always had what he wanted like a little child, the Witch King would stand in his way for her. Before she came it was always so lonely and dark, but now she was his life. It seemed as though he had been lost forever and he had found himself again, the little that was left. He was power once again, bringer of death and darkness. He could even feel the magic course through his bones once more again swirling in his hood and he felt as though he could rule the world again.

Arshorina knew that something was wrong when the Ringwraith's grasp on her hand tightened and his tall stature began to slump a little. But without a face, it was useless to know what he was really thinking. But still she clung to him as though afraid of something else. Something like a dark cloud covering the moon in order to stop the two from being together.

The Ringwraith continued down the stairs not caring if the Master noticed. Instead his mind was upon his love and where he needed to go. To the Dead Marshes, he would need to lead her right in front of the Dark Gates and past the eye. He will need to be quick and silent. There entrapped inside a cave filled with his sorcery sat his spirit waiting impatiently for his love that the empty shroud held. It seemed odd now that he was in two places at the same time, not whole with her and not whole where he wandered. This was the shadow realm and each had his own.

The Ringwraith could remember being presented with his ring so long ago. It was when the land was filled with dragons and other mystical creatures that faded into the third age. Creatures that commanded others or the ones old to time itself this was where he came from. It was his rule no one could stand in his way as he ruled with a mighty fist challenging others. He had heard in legends and read in scrolls of this Suron to be beautiful and wise only to fall from the Valar. Now he could even see the words glow before him as they did in the books of old.

The parchment was old and brown as the young hands flipped through the pages. Writing of the early ages were soaked in ink on the thick parchment and the cold blue eyes red threw them with much difficulty.

"Mi Lord," came a voice from behind the man. "You should take a rest before ye die. Take thy books, they are useless to thy people."

"No!" the man scowled and continued reading after waving the servant away.

A cup of liquid sat nearby and this was the man's 18th meal now, a low servant coming down the dark stairs once in a while to refill it. But this was the man's hour; he had found the chapter of the man that his guardian had told him about. The Dark Lord Suron. The chapter was under a different name however than what he had suspected. The Age of Rebellion.

'Here lies the account of The Dark Lord Suron preceded from the first Dark Lord Morgoth.

'Before the creation of the world, Eru created offspring's of his thought one became known as Suron. The One created the world and once this was accomplished, his offspring Suron began to plot against him. Throwing the angelic being down to earth along with others to true to their god formed the Valar and became our gods of time. However, the Valar found Suron as a lesser Valar and cast him along with select few to become Maiar. Though Suron was powerful, he was corrupted not like his brothers and sisters of the Valar who remained good and uncorrupted. There was one that twisted the thoughts of Suron into becoming evil and bring death to the ones he loved. Melkor wished to dominate over the Valar and his father. Melkor began to twist the tunes of all the spirits into his own discord and made his father discontinue the cord of life. Thus Melkor and The One created a new world of independent being and allowed all the spirits to enter this Ea and follow it's history of good and evil. This became known as the First age where men and elves appeared as the children of god.

'Wanting to bring order and coordination to the world Suron thought it best to side with the now named Morgoth the Black Enemy however he became influenced by Morgoth's will and power wanting it for his own. He became chief and chose the name of Suron and attacked the Valar. Driving the Valar to establish a new realm called the Blessed Realm of Valinor. Suron wrestled with his choices between good and evil and eventually became one of the Valinor once again. There trust in him unwavering however it wouldn't last.

'At some point, Suron left the Blessed Realm and came to Middle-Earth, the central continent of Arda. At this time, Suron came into Morgoth's services for good no longer spy to the Valar and sided with their greatest enemy. In his defense he claimed that he was a spy for him and reported their every deed while he had been present.

"After joining with his new master, Suron proved to be devoted and capable of many things while in secret schemed against him. While Morgoth still stood Suron did not seek supremacy of his own.

'The time of the elves were near and Morgoth built Suron the Stronghold of Angband. To protect the elves of Morgoth, the Valar waged war with Morgoth's forces and succeeded in capture. Suron fled before he could be caught. Suron hid in Middle-Earth and began to breed Orcs at a rapid speed.

'Eventually Melkor escaped the confinement of the Valar and escaped back to Middle-Earth to rejoin Suron who had repaired Angband for his Master. Shortly after Melkor's escape, the Noldorin Elves left the Blessed Realm of Valinor in the Uttermost West against the counsel of the Valar and waged war on Morgoth who had stolen the Simarils. Suron fought side by side with Gothmog, the Lord of the Balrogs under the title of Gorthaur the Cruel. Suron at the time was a master of illusions and could change into the form of his servants.

'As time continued, Morgoth left the what seemed eternal war to corrupt the newly created race of Men while Sauron continued to lay siege to the Elves. Eventually he conquered the Elvish land of Tol Sirion and named it Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves. Ten years later Finrod Felagund the king of the Werewolves dueled Sauron and was defeated and died saving Beren in Sauron's dungeons. Soon afterwards Lúthien and Huan the Wolfhound arrived, hoping to rescue Beren. Aware of a prophecy to the effect that the greatest wolf would kill Huan ever, Sauron himself assumed a monstrous wolf-like form and attacked him. But the prophecy actually applied to the still-unborn Carcharoth, and Wolf-Sauron could not prevail against Huan.

'In a frenzy of shape shifting, Sauron slipped in and out of various animal-like shapes and finally back into his accustomed form, but Huan had him by the throat. Lúthien gave him two choices: either to surrender to her the magical control he had established over Tol-in-Gaurhoth, or to have his body killed so that his naked ghost would have to endure the scorn of Morgoth. Sauron yielded, and Huan let him go. He fled in the form of a huge vampire bat, and Lúthien rescued Beren from the dungeons. Afterward Sauron spent some time as a vampire in the woods of Taur-nu-Fuin.

'Following the voyage of Eärendil to the Blessed Realm, the Valar finally moved against Morgoth. In the resulting War of Wrath, the Dark Lord was defeated and cast into the Outer Void beyond the world. But Sauron fled from the Great Battle and escaped.

'Shocked by the overthrow of his master, Sauron repented. He assumed his most beautiful form and approached Eönwë, emissary of the Valar, who however could not pardon a Maia like himself. Through Eönwë, Manwë as Lord of the Valar commanded Sauron to come before him for judgment, but he had left room for repentance and ultimate rehabilitation. Thus Sauron now had a genuine chance of rejoining the forces of good, but he would obviously risk being sentenced to long servitude as proof of his good will. Having wielded great power under Morgoth, Sauron was unwilling to face this humiliation, and so hid in Middle-earth.

At the end of the First age, so accounts Sauron in his land of Mordor, forever cast away from the Valar and forgotten.'

The man turned the scroll around wondering if there were any other hidden messages about this being past, but there were none. Only the names of those who were told the tale. Slumping in his chair, the man took the silver ring from his pocket and lightly kissed it whispering enchantments of love to the ring.

Looking up from its plate of salted meat, a goblin noticed his lord approaching fast with a beautiful elf behind him. All of his land had been questioning the lord's actions of late, and now the goblin saw for himself what was happening. Did he care, he suddenly thought as the billowing shreds of cloak passed him. There were rumors that the girl was a prized possession of both the Dark Lord Sauron and the Witch King, but he was just glad that he wasn't in the middle of the arguments. But he had to admit to himself that it was only fear that ever stopped him from doing anything. He was a faithful servant to both wanting the same cause in the end, but this he didn't want to become part of. Grabbing his plate quickly, he scuttled away hoping that his lord didn't spot him among the black rocks.

The Ringwraith continued in a hurry ignoring the crouching goblin and quickly entered the masses of orcs and men. They all alike moved out of his way and the few that did were slaughtered. Behind the king, the orcs began to devour each other and the men ran like frightened dogs. Arshorina could sense the growing turmoil in the Ringwraith with each step.

Something was about to happen, Suron knew as he sat atop his high tower his great eye looking about the many valleys. The swirls of inner turmoil and fear were all around him and he loved it. He hadn't felt this sense of power in a long time, for now he was done cowering in the dark, soon he would take his rightful place not caring if the Valar was still there to wage war against him. Just as the agents of Maiar who came disguised as wizards like this Gandalf stood in his way preventing him it seemed at every corner to continue; but no more. He had one in his clutches and he held on to this once just as he would his ring if it were here. Ah his ring, it was the only thing that brought him comfort at this time. For many ages and before time he had been alive and nothing had come close to him beside his love for it. No feeling stronger than this; there was a time that he wanted order and perfection but no more. He wanted to ruin and rule over everything that was corrupting the land and swaying it to good.

There was the first age ruled by the Valar, the second age ruled and fought with by himself and the elves, the third age would be his. He would insure it by having the elf bear him a child as soon as she passed the Ringwraith's capability and enter into his illusions, his splendors. It was a rare gift to have her but after she bore him a child he would rid of her just like a useless orc. His eye suddenly quivered plotting to feed her to the goblins and men as meat. Yet, he could sense that the demon boy was growing close to this elf. Mocking himself silently for suspecting such a thing, he continued to look out upon his army and beyond looking for a sent of his ring a sliver of hope for him. But still, he would need to keep a closer eye on his second in command. For he too knew that evil will bore evil deeds.

"Your steed," a fowl goblin growled handing the reins to his lord and scuttled away like all the others afraid that something vial would happen.

Arshorina didn't understand how the hordes of goblin and orcs could fear one man so much but she didn't raise the question sensing her love wanting to hide her away. She watched as the Ringwraith leapt upon his saddle, the black horse whining in pain and fear at the invisible shroud. But it didn't last for long as it slowly remembered it's training and calmed down. In a quick moment, Arshorina was flung behind the robes and hugging the invisible form, the horse was off.

Its hooves hit the black ground hard kicking up dirt in its path and flinging rock into the bystanders. But Arshorina could care less with every foot away from the awful stare that had taken interest in her the better. She didn't really understand the dark lords plan for her or how the Ringwraith could have lied so easily to her about it but she knew that she would have to face him. She would have to tell him that she would not bear his child nor any other but the man she loved.

It seemed odd that for almost 5 months now she had been away from the elves, her mother and most of all everything that was good in the world. Away from everything that she had called home; but it wasn't home was it? It took only a few weeks for her to feel at ease with the evil of the world, one of which she could have never met it she stayed with the elves. There had been rumors that soon the elves would pass on and give their realm to that of men. Her bloodline however would continue to fight in order to gain dominance over the world. And with the elves gone, nothing would stand in its way. Her body felt free for the first time in her life as she clung to the Ringwraith as she had in her dreams. His black power seeping into her binding together something old. But there was more than just evil magic she came to realize her mind struggling with concepts of what this secret dominance in his spirit was.

The Ringwraith swiveled his empty hood about sensing her every move behind him. Her grip had tightened slightly and for one moment he worried that Sauron's eye was upon her once more. Her arms wrapped tightly around his empty torso and the horse's beats on the ground raised fear in him for the first time. The tremors of the earth that he had once grown upon now eroded his hope. Soon the master would know and he hadn't even reached the Black Gate. Casting away his doubts, he turned to look upon his love's dark form. Removing a hind from his rein, he took hold of his loves hand and grasped it lightly stroking the delicate flesh between his gloved invisible hands. Oh how he wished to have flesh once more just to touch her and feel her warmth. To caress her cheek and feel her moan against him; but these were pleasures that he had long forgotten in his quest for greater power and evil.

Arshorina looked about her as the black canon of rocks old as the earth passed by like a blur with the horse's speed. This horse breed for this purpose was uncanny to any other horse that she had ever encountered. Even the legends of the white horse Shadowfax seemed insignificant to that of the Ringwraiths horse. Breed to withstand fear and power while running fast as the wind it seemed almost impossible for a horse to do. The black hair was dripping with swear and foam whipped about it's long mouth while the nails in it's hooves dripped a trail of black blood wherever it went tainting the ground with it.

While still with the elves, Arshorina and a few others had once came upon a trail of this blood. The rotten ground was only responded with disgust from the pure faces however hers remained solid, almost curious at the time. Now she rode with the creature that produced the black blood, its master behind the reins and the power behind it all. She sighed slightly the sound escaping with the wind however the Ringwraith heard it and turned his hood slightly. For a moment she wished to see his face as she had in her visions and wondered if it was full of love and lust, not like what she had seen him with that woman, but romance. His stone cold eyes staring in lust at her as the wind passed them by, the dark rocks a blur of speed, and the only thing between them was the air of passionate love.

But the feeling never lasted for long, suddenly as though a dark force bared down on the two, a burst of cold wind sent the horse into a startled frenzy. The cold wind burst into a hot swirl something that the two had felt before. Fear welled into Arshorina's throat and she felt despair in only the way that the dark lord could give her.

The Ringwraith reared his empty head to the skies wondering, screaming in his head that he was too late.

7


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Into the Darkness

The Ringwraith's mind became blank, as though under the utter control of the dark lord as he had been once a long time ago, the fire of his soul twinkling with despair. He could almost feel the buzz of his dark lords' spirit around them, the air thick with his sent. He was too late, he knew now, he had failed and she would never be his. She would never be in his arms, his to command and hold. To love utterly in all this chaos to protect and cherish. No not anymore! She was not his! He fought the thoughts that were creeping into his empty head knowing deep down that it was not he that stated these things. Deep down he could feel something rise, like a beast that had lain dormant for a long time; something he never knew existed.

Arshorina felt her heart jump to her throat as she felt the chilling voice of the eye speak to her in a tongue she knew existed since the beginning of time, a language of all languages. A buzz of fear crept down her spine, but her eyes were peeled upon the man before her and overrode the darkness that crept silently around her. All she could feel was anger as the fingers of the dark lord ensnared their way around her throat threatening to take her life away.

"Why!" Was all she could hear from the wind as she gasped for breath to explain and reply. "Why have you betrayed me with a half breed when I am all powerful! Why?"

Arshorina thought fast, her mind whirling with what to say to the monster. She knew that this would come, and the Ringwraith had even warned her against her actions and thought. But she needed to stand her ground, for after all it was the Ringwraith who she loved and she needed to make this all-powerful one know. "My lord," she gasped hoping that he would hear.

Bright light streaked amongst the dim fires of Mordor awakening the foulest of creatures, their anger rising with the heat that their master provided. Sauron sat upon his pedestal looking in the only spot he could all his anger laid bare to her in a pure form for disregarding his demands. They were simple and tempting were they not? Confusion settled in slowly of how she could have fallen in love with a demon like his pathetic servant instead of a god. Could he try again to sway her to come into his power? To be his just as long as he could have a child then be done with her?

"I will make you an offer elf. If you only bare me a child, you may spend your life with my servant if you wish it." His voice was sly just as it had been while making deal after deal with long forgotten creatures.

Arshorina's eyes widened at his statement, images of her in labor flooding her mind just to give it up to goblins then shoved out into the cold dark and empty air. Was this his plan for her? To use her like a cow? No she couldn't and wouldn't accept this. However his grip on her was weakening to a point where she could reply. Her eyes slowly looked upon her love before her wondering if this was to be the last of her.

"Mi lord, you do not understand. I cannot fulfill your desire, for I am not a goddess like you have foreseen. I am a simple elf that will always serve you only. You should not force me to do something I wish not if you think that I am what you say. Please let me and the Ringwraith by, you are seeking another. If you wish it and the Ringwraith and I bare a child, then I will let you claim it as yours." Arshorina begged quickly hoping in all her heart that he would leave them be. Then a sudden thought came to her and she continued with a bit more strength, "It is your ring that you are looking for now. If you had your true love in your hand than you could do anything and you wouldn't need a successor right away. You need your ring first. To insure the future of your kingdom and your child if ever you have one."

Arshorina paused wondering if what she said was enough to have the demon doubt his greed for her. It seemed like darkness had entrapped her once more the beast within all life rearing its head slightly. Feeling as though greed was the only part of living and the disgusting voice screamed at her mind to accept and beg for forgiveness. It seemed as though countless of ages she had fought with this beast that she kept at bay along with all her family, was this what they fought for? And to this day she had fought this wonderful gift! But was this what she wanted; power and riches at the cost of her heart?

The Ringwraith could sense a change in his love behind him. Sniffing at the air, he could smell the dark cloud that he had seen before emanate from her. The wonderful stench that he had grown to love and he could not help but to grab her from her daze no matter what the voice in his head commanded or how much the pressure in the air strengthened. He needed to touch her, needed to feel her against him, needed to be enveloped in her darkness. The swirling madness that he had felt before.

He could care less when the horse buckled beneath the two falling upon the ground throwing the rider and his prize upon the harsh rocks below. The small creatures had fluttered away frightened before by the strange presence and the large crashing bodies separating the dirt and rock. The Ringwraith's hands were upon Arshorina as his robes here shredded in the gravel but he felt no pain. It was as though he could feel her every move beside him, as though he still had human hands to touch her skin in such a sensual way.

Shivers ran through his absent spine as the two bodies entwined upon the ground under the gaze of his master. Disobedience, this was what he had longed for, he now understood, almost more than love. To be utterly free from control and to take this woman as his! To be the one in control and such a sweet power, her dark gift that he smelt. He wondered slightly what she was speaking right now, what was her thoughts and would she die? Would his master not allow her to live? Growling slightly, he grasped her body close to his. No that wouldn't happen, he wouldn't allow it!

Sauron was struck back by the elf's comment, his dark mind spinning with confusion. This was the woman that had haunted his servants' dreams had it not been? She was a goddess among mortals, like him. She should know her purpose in life was to be with him unless she was right. And before him he could see his servant drooling over her like he had with countless other women before his hands roaming over her delicate body. Why had he taken interest in such a pitiful sight in the first place? To believe one that could not see! Oh how blind he had been! This woman was right to think that she was no goddess and she would never belong to him for she was of no use!

"My ring," he whispered and directed his gaze away from the two not caring what they did or planned in the point of time. His ring was still in the clutches of mortals. He needed to find his ring!

Arshorina gasped suddenly her eyes awakening to the world around her once more. Pain fluttered through her arm as she looked about herself in a hurried fashion wondering how she had came to be sprawled upon the ground in pain. She could feel heavy hands tracing around her waist as her eyes scanned the Ringwraiths black steed only a few feet away blood dripping into the dark ground like a small stream. What had happened? She asked silently as the hands continued to slide along her silk dress.

Removing her eyes from the panting steed, she looked dazed at who was touching her. She was met with the empty hood she had grown to cherish. The thick cloth around his shoulders was now frayed and torn as was the bottom of his robe. Sauron must have done this to them. It seemed odd enough that she had felt no pain until now, as though the dark lord had her in a spell of sorts. All she felt however was his anger, like a mist of power still lingering in the air making it heavy.

The Ringwraith almost couldn't stop when he heard his love gasp out as though coming out of some deep hole or being born into life once more. There was just too much darkness in her for him to care about anything else. She had him in a blissful trap. He so desperately wanted to devour her, to make her his possession, his love at the moment it was unbearable for his body to follow his hazy mind. But no that was impossible here! He was not human, and he could not love in life the way he wanted to.

"Are you alright?" He could hear her ask.

It was just enough of a distraction to make him come to reality. His hands stopped their travels and he could see clearly again. Her wondrous dark gift began to fade in his view and part of him was glad. However he noted that he was torn; he didn't know anything anymore. None of his thoughts made sense to him along with life itself.

"Yes," he replied almost in a mumble confused about his answer. He wasn't alright, he had her in his grasp and he let her go just like that. He had even defied the dark lord! This only provoked more questions however and all he wanted to think of was the woman before him. But he felt alive for the first time, he felt power flow into him again.

Standing slowly, he attempted to clear his mind. The white and gray mists swirled around him; odd shapes of the boulders and cliffs slowly crept into his senses. Suddenly however panic rose in him. Sniffing at the air, he could smell blood, the thickness overwhelming him in fear. Arshorina was hurt!

Arshorina's blue eyes had been locked upon the long ripped cloak as it stood, the fabric wielding with the peeking moon. Shadows danced across the ground enveloping her body making a shiver run down her spine. All around the two there was no life, no trees or animals, just the harsh cold wind and gray rocks. Even the horse lay upon the ground breathing it's last breath to the careless wind.

She had been frozen in this spot for too long. But before she could get up, the empty hood turned to her as though in fear. What had she done to have that reaction from him?

"Ye are hurt." The deep voice suddenly boomed as the Ringwraith bent as though to inspect. "I have failed you."

The Ringwraith took her into his arms as Arshorina realized he couldn't see or know where she bled. She smiled hoping that he could at least sense her feelings and wondered slightly how he could have known if he couldn't see very well. He must have been a great king, the though suddenly rose from her depths and she sat stunned at herself as he held her in his arms.

"We will go back and attend to ye wounds," he suddenly continued bringing her from her fantasies.

"They are nothing!" Arshorina exclaimed in a high voice hoping that he wouldn't take another step toward Mordor. But he continued and she began to panic, "Please!"

The Ringwraith had all intentions of returning to his stronghold even as she claimed that she was fine. They were all lies he knew in her panicked voice but why would she want to do that? His steps were heavy but they faltered as she begged for him to stop. Why did this woman have such a command over him? It wasn't her physical beauty, nor was she a threat to him in any way. So why did she hold him captive with a single word, a single plea.

It almost reminded him of when he was a child and his mother would take him deep into the forest of Mirkwood. To only sit upon the wild grass and listen to the whispers of the trees. He had listened to them for hours on end entranced by their movements and voice as they blew through the thick wind. He could almost hear the wind rustle through the leaves and scream against the hard bark again. It had been so peaceful in those days and he had been in command. He had been the evil force then that had pushed upon the sanity of the land.

"Of course," he found his voice once more and looked at the dark mist that lay in his arms once more. As though for reassurance that he could speak. "We will go."


End file.
